


the golden ticket

by masaomi



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Depression, Eventual Kirk/Spock, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, sad jim, sadly enough there's only a few mccoy lines i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masaomi/pseuds/masaomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a hatred; a coping; a healing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the golden ticket

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off of the tags Jess (thefirsthenthelast . tumblr . com) wrote on a gifset of Jim. It kind of just escalated from there. Um, it's also formatted with a heavy emphasis on the enter key, sorry. It's also my first Star Trek fic, so please, don't judge too harshly, and feel free to leave some criticism! Thank you xxx

They say the world started with a bang. 

“The Big Bang” is the official secular theory. That the universe exploded, or some other scientific shit. Jim isn’t sure. He never really bothered listening in school. 

He does know his world started with a bang. 

The bang, explosion really, of his father’s life ending. 

Then, in direct contrast to a life ended, a life began. 

One soul for another. A goddamn equivalent exchange, Jim thinks sometimes. 

Except it isn’t, really. 

One James T. Kirk is not worth one George Kirk.

Jim Kirk is not the man his father was. 

Bar fights, delinquent activities, that’s James T. Kirk. A disgrace to his family, and his father’s name.

Every year since his birth, on the fourth of January, Winona Kirk could be found drinking. Wine, beer, hell, one time Jim saw her with vodka. As long as it numbed the system, it didn’t matter. 

His birthdays were never enjoyable.

He’s learned not to expect many presents. 

Once, Winona gave him a delicious cake (the last year he received one), wished him a happy birthday (through silent tears), and rushed upstairs (and passed out on the bed).

Sam didn’t leave his room, because he didn’t want to risk facing their mother, so six-year-old Jim ate alone.

Their next-door neighbor ended up with most of the cake, delivered by “that cute little Kirk boy with the saddest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, Darla – I swear, sometimes he looks older than I do.” 

(He overheard her gossiping on the phone as he left the house. He wondered if she ever actually ate it.)

Jim learned. The next year, the house was short one James T. Kirk, and, five miles away, Mr. Brown’s cornfield was occupied by one James T. Kirk. 

Three years later, two things happen. 

Number one: Frank moves in. 

Number two: he loses his mom. 

Not literally, but, honestly, it might as well had been. Winona was gone away offworld every January fourth now (how _convenient_ , Jim always thought), leaving Jim’s poor psyche vulnerable to his uncle. 

And, damn, those were certainly memorable birthdays.

“Worthless, Jimmy. You’re worthless. God, your mother doesn’t even bother pretending she’s okay with you being born anymore, does she? Hell, she must hate you. Looks at you and sees George…then remembers. Goddamn useless kid. You’re no one,” Frank spit. “No one.”

By the end of the day, Frank’s Chevy Corvette was sparkling, the house was clean, and Jim was in bed with tired muscles and an even more tired heart.

This pattern continued for seven more hellish birthdays, until, at eighteen, Jim could finally, _finally_ escape. 

And he did, with a playboy smile on his lips, a genius brain, and a self-destructive mindset. 

The day of his nineteenth birthday is a novelty. 

It opens with one James T. Kirk unsure of how his day should proceed. There are no demanding uncles, no cars to polish, no chores to do. 

He drinks.

He fights. 

He sits on his cot, PADD in hand, and considers messaging his mother. 

Jim doesn’t think it’s that selfish, all things considered. He just wants someone to recognize the day he came into being. All she has to do is say two words. Maybe she’ll even pretend to be happy for his existence, at least until he signs off. She won’t even have to face him the rest of the day.

The PADD is abandoned on the desk, and the door is slamming shut.

The day of his nineteenth birthday concludes with one James T. Kirk and one Orion female in a sweat-covered bed. 

Months later, she appears out of goddamn _nowhere_ , and practically shrieks, “Oh god, you’re James Kirk! Do you remember me?” She blushes. “I…we…a couple months ago we had…”

Yeah, Jim knows her. It had been his birthday, after all. He winks. “Hell yeah I remember you. Those were some good times, sweetheart.”

“You’re _Jim Kirk_.”

Wow, _really_? Jim wasn’t aware. Thank you for clearing up his existential crisis. “And?”

She looks stunned for a minute. “But – we were together on your birthday! And I didn’t even know! Someone mentioned to me that reporters had been looking for James Kirk on January fourth to say something about George Kirk, or whatever, but he couldn’t be found, and they showed me a picture, and I was like, oh my god, I slept with him!” She beams, then slowly became more sober. “I’m awfully sorry about your dad, by the way.”

Jim was too. “Thanks. It was just a rough day, you know?”

She made what Jim was sure she thought was a sympathetic face. “God that’s horrible.”

“Yeah.” Jim wonders if he could just knock her out and leave. 

Reaching out to touch him on the shoulder, she inclines her head, “By the way, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was your birthday.” She brightens. “Happy belated birthday!”

Jim was seriously contemplating some drastic measures of escape. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you around! And don’t worry, next year I’ll totally remember.”

 _Hell no_.

Jim was gone two months later. 

For his twentieth why-the-hell-did-i-have-to-be-born day, Jim ignores everything as best he can, and plays poker with some friends he’s actually managed to make and keep. (He wins.)

He experiences some serious deja vu as he consults his PADD on the bed. Maybe this year?

_Hell, she must hate you. Useless. Worthless. No one._

He’s right. 

Jim goes out to a bar. (It sounds like a beginning of a bad joke. It fits. Jim considers his entire life a joke.)

Seven months later, Jim’s celebrating his buddy’s birthday (a surprise party), and the host, Tim, comes up to him.

“Hey man, when the hell was your birthday? I’ve known you since October; did I miss it or what? Is it later in the year? C’mon, I’ve done everyone else’s parties, and I know you don’t wanna miss out.”

Jim (fake) laughs. “Yeah, it was in January.”

“Shit man. I’m so sorry we missed it.”

“Hey it’s all right! You’ll just make it up next year.”

“Yeah, I totally will thanks.”

Jim leaves. He doesn’t come back. 

Later that evening, Tim realizes Jim never told him when exactly his birthday was. 

After a couple of weeks, it hits Tim as to just exactly Jim is, and he spends the rest of the day trying to contact Jim, only to discover the scion of the hero of the USS _Kelvin_ has moved. 

Tim feels like shit the rest of the week. 

Jim’s next birthday follows the same pattern.

Twenty-two, though, is a different story. 

Twenty-two is when Jim joins Starfleet. 

He meets Leonard McCoy. 

He meets Uhura (who won’t give him her goddamn first name) and Gaila, and some others. 

They know exactly who he is (or, rather, who his father was. Jim himself is a worthless, useless no one.) 

Uhura and Gaila know to avoid him on the fourth of January. 

Of course, Jim’s PADD always seems to have links to porn or complex technological problems on that day. His room also seems to produce beer bottles from nowhere.

Bones, stubborn bastard, handles it completely differently. 

Jim can’t go out and be self-destructive anymore; the first time he tries to head out to a bar, he hears the hiss of a hypo and “goddammit Jim!”

He awakes on his bed ten minutes later to a gruff “I’m a doctor, Jim, and you’ll listen to me and _stay here_ or I’ll hypo your ass again and you won’t wake up nearly as quickly.”

Jim simply nods, accepts the beer handed to him, and proceeds to drink himself into utter inebriation. 

Bones looks on, and sighs sadly. 

The years pass. 

Jim’s the captain of the greatest damn ship in the galaxy, and has the absolute best crew a man could ask for (even if that includes his _infuriating_ first officer). 

But, of course, the shit storm that is January rolls around yet again. 

Bones is treating an outbreak of some deadly flu variant down on the planet they’re circling around, so Jim decides to drown his woes in a nice big bottle of Romulan ale. 

As he takes another larger-than-is-healthy swig, his door opens. 

“Whoever it is, go the hell away.”

Spock stares at him. Of course it’s the Vulcan. _Of course_.

Jim is so screwed. 

But then. 

Spock hands him a box – a _present_.

Jim is beginning to think he’s part of some elaborate scheme which will result in Jim returning to earth and Spock residing in the captain’s chair. 

Warily, Jim takes (he still can’t believe this) the _goddamn present_ , and opens it.

Inside is a small slip of paper. (How cute. And antiquated, jesus. No one uses paper anymore; this must've been expensive.)

Jim opens it, and sees the words "one free hug.” Jim stares at it. 

Jim is-

Jim isn’t really sure what’s happening. 

Jim doesn’t know what the hell is going on. 

He may be having an out-of-body experience. 

He may be hallucinating. 

Because there is _no way_ his _Vulcan first officer_ just gave him an honest-to-god _hug ticket_. On _paper. Conveniently_ on the _very_ day he would need it most.

But then Jim pauses. 

Maybe this is what Spock Prime meant when he said they had to “cultivate their epic friendship that would transcend time and impress everyone with its badassary” or however the hell he phrased it.

Actually, come to think of it, Jim’s pretty sure Spock said it slightly differently.

Whatever. Back to matter at hand.

This could be the first step. The beginning of their friendship. 

Jim holds the slip. If Spock is setting him up for humiliation on today of all days, there’ll be hell to pay. 

But. 

If Spock’s serious (and the steadily growing shit-I-messed-up look on Spock’s face is kind of cluing Jim in), then this is…incredibly sweet. And, to be unbearably honest, something he desperately needs.

And _of course_ Jim starts to tear up. He sighs. Might as well go all out with the emotional display.

A deep breath. A smile, watery, but at least he’s trying. 

“Thank you, Spock.” 

Another deep breath. 

“Captain, are yo–” Jim cuts him off abruptly. 

“I’d like to cash this in now.”

And the two hug. 

It’s a long one. One Jim has needed greatly. Bones is an awesome drinking buddy, but this is different. And Spock’s entire race, and his mother, was just killed. Spock probably needs this just as much as Jim does. 

They’re still hugging. 

Eventually, they separate. However, there is a certain camaraderie present that had not been there before. Jim is buying into this whole friendship-with-Spock thing a little more now.

Spock departs with a “goodbye Captain”.

Jim whispers his thanks into the air his first officer had occupied moments before. 

He feels…lighter. And mischievous. 

Spock has given him an invaluable opportunity with letting him keep the ticket, and Jim is not about to let this pass.

Three days later, Spock is injured when they beam down to a surprisingly hostile alien planet. (They targeted the “odd one out”, so Spock was the aim of the first volley of arrows. Jim knew one day those ears would get them in trouble.) 

They beamed back up immediately, so only Spock was maimed. 

“…goddamn hobgoblin of course you would be the _only one hurt_ how goddamn typical. At least I don’t have to patch up anyone else or, god forbid, patch up Jim _yet again_ –”

“Aw, Bones, I’m feeling the love.”

“ _Shut the hell up_ I’m trying to stitch him up and I can’t do that with you _constantly hanging around me so you need to leave!_ ”

Jim knows Bones is just as worried as he is.

Later, Jim peeks through the door of the medical clinic and sees Spock lying on a bed…with the good doctor nowhere in sight. 

He creeps over. “Hey Spock. Bones fix you up yet?”

Spock cracks open one eye, closed it, and sighed minutely. “Captain. Thank you for not layering your speech with expletives. Doctor McCoy has been expressing his displeasure at my condition in a particularly vulgar manner. Nonstop.” Jim chuckles. “And, to answer your inquiry, yes, I am quite well, and should be fit for duty in a couple of days.”

“Awesome, but that’s not what I came in to ask,” Jim waggles his eyebrows. Spock is looking a bit worried. Excellent. Jim’s plan is proceeding as planned. 

Jim holds up a white slip of paper, and Spock’s slanted eyebrows shoot up so fast and high the tips of them disappear into his hairline. “I’d like to cash this in.”

“Captain, might I remind you, it said _one_ –”

“Oho so you thought you were being clever, did you? Well, this,” and Jim whips out another white slip. “Is a _copy_. So your logic and Vulcan robot tendencies can _suck it_.” 

Spock sighs. 

They hug. Again. Jim knows if Spock had really tried, he could have avoided this atrocious display of emotion. It’s nice to know he didn’t. 

Throughout the year, Jim cashes in his ticket over and over (obviously he made more than one copy). Missions gone bad, happy occasions, and even one memorable time on the bridge, when Spock miscalculates something for the first (and only) time in his life. 

Along the way, they become friends. Pretty close friends, actually. Being in close quarters to each other will produce either mutual respect and friendship or mutual hatred and intolerance.

And now, being friends with the guy, Jim realizes he’s actually not that bad. 

Spock has an incredibly refined sense of dry humor. He’s intelligent, and can put up with Jim’s day-to-day shit (well, so can Bones, but Spock doesn’t voice his annoyance with quite the same…flair). 

Jim is also beginning to feel some sort of…connection to his Vulcan first officer. Some bond (for lack of a better word).

Jim can totally dig this. Jim is also currently having a bit of a crisis. 

A gay crisis, to be precise.

Jim is discovering he may have an affinity for pointed ears. And logical mindsets.

He may be, slightly, gay.

For Spock. 

Surprise. 

To be honest, it had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since his hearing, way back when. 

Ever since Jim demanded to see his accuser. 

Then, “oh no, he’s hot.”

So. Jim is definitely beginning to have some decidedly less-friendship-more-relationship feelings concerning Spock. 

Of course, it’ll never actually come to anything. Jim’s pretty sure Spock sees him as a friend, nothing else (of course, it’s a miracle they’ve gotten this far). 

Although Spock has been acting…off lately. 

Staring at him when Jim does something kind. Or considerate. 

Sitting with Jim at lunch. 

Showing amusement at his wittier jokes.

Not acting as annoyed when Jim outsmarts someone. 

Jim definitely considers it a deeply interesting enigma.

It’s January again. Jim keeps hoping maybe one year everyone’ll just decide to skip this month, but, alas, no such luck this year, at least. 

Four days into January, Spock enters with a box and a green-tinged cheeks. In the box is a gold slip. (And really, this paper must be adding up. Jim'll find a way to pay him back.)

Jim reads it.

Then he reads it again. 

And again.

And slowly inclines his head up.

Spock, meanwhile, is, not _fidgeting_ , exactly, but getting pretty damn close, and schooling his expression into one of polite indifference. 

Jim slowly reads the three words on the slip _again_.

He isn’t totally sure what is going on. 

He doesn’t think Spock is the one for practical jokes, but it’s a possibility. 

Because this. 

This is impossible. Literally. The most improbable thing that has ever occurred and probably will ever occur.

“Spock.”

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Am I on camera.”

“No, sir.”

“This is from you?”

Spock clears his throat. “Yes, Captain.”

“Is it genuine?” Jim is still in shock. He wonders, vaguely, if he should call Bones and have the doctor check Spock for signs of insanity.

“Yes, sir.”

Shit. 

Jim’s been through this before.

The same feelings pumping through him right now are the same ones he felt when he decided to steal the old automobile and drive it off a cliff. 

Terror. 

Fear.

Excitement. 

Adrenaline.

A need. For something. He can’t really name it, but Jim knows it’s there. 

So, naturally, Jim makes the same decision he did with his father’s car way back when. 

He decides, to hell with it. 

And succumbs. 

Jim stands. He walks to Spock, who is looking slightly anxious. 

“I’d like to cash this in.”

Spock swallows louder than normal. 

Jim moves in further, and gently cups his face.

They kiss.

The yellow ticket flutters down to the floor, unnoticed by the two occupants who, to be honest, have more important things demanding their attention. 

It reads, “one free kiss.”

They say the world started with a bang. 

Jim’s did. 

That bang shaped his life, and hasn’t really stopped until now. But finally, _finally_ , his world has stopped starting. 

And started forming.


End file.
